


Against All Odds

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy
Genre: F/M, Speculation!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5590078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Making up for lost time, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against All Odds

**Author's Note:**

> Speculation, pre- _MATB_.

### April, 2007

"Oh my God. OhmyGodohmyGod _ohmyGod_."

She put down the phone, her mind in a whirl. Where to begin? The house was a disaster—okay, not really, but they were not quite used to the whirlwind of a fourteen-month-old who now, with the help of his baby walker, wheeled about the main floor with fierce determination, leaving toys and bits of soggy Cheerios in his wake. With nowhere to be outside of home, no company expected, she was (to her own standards) unkempt: she had not shaved her legs, had not applied makeup, had only brushed her hair to pull it back with an elastic, had worn the same trackie bottoms for the second day in a row.

Despite these panicked thoughts, a grin began to spread across her face. She couldn't wait to see their son Billy's face when his daddy appeared, arriving home early after two weeks away.

She scooped him up out of his baby walker then brought her upstairs with him, plopping him in his crib as she took a quick shower, patted her face with some makeup, brushed out her hair into a neater ponytail, and changed clothes. It was all she had time to do before he'd be home from Heathrow. 

Sure enough, just as she double-checked her appearance in the mirror, she heard activity downstairs. "I'm upstairs!" she called. " _We're_ upstairs!"

She heard his rapid footfalls on the staircase and dashed forward to meet him at the door. He was a sight for sore eyes, though he looked dishevelled and tired, and in need of a shave. She hardly cared. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He took her in his arms and swept her up off of her feet.

"Oh, Mark," she said, breaking away, drawing a deep breath. "I've missed you so very much."

"Bridget," he murmured. "Missed you, too."

"Daaaa!"

They stopped, drew back, and looked across the hall to the baby's room, to where Billy had pulled himself up in his crib, standing, smiling adoringly at his father.

"Oh my God!" she said. "Did he just say what I think he said?"

He let go and dashed away from her, forgivable only because he was going to see their son. "Oh, my dear boy," he said, emotion thick in his voice, as he held Billy close.

"Dada!" Billy said again, squealing.

He pecked a quick, affectionate kiss on his son's cheek. "So glad to see you, too," he said. "It's time for sleep, though. Sleep time."

"Daa," Billy said, then yawned.

He patted down his son's soft hair. "We can play in the morning," he said, then set him back into the crib; Billy immediately snuggled up to his favourite blanket and stuffed toy.

Mark then turned to her, then knit his brow. "Something wrong?"

Nothing was wrong at all; she had just been utterly lost in thought about how incredibly sexy he'd looked being so sweet and fatherly to their son. She only shook her head. "Let's leave Billy to sleep," she said, "and go to bed ourselves."

"You read my mind," he said. "I'm exhausted."

Her expression dropped. Of course he was exhausted; he had just come off of an exceedingly long flight from New York. She felt silly and selfish. "Ah," she said.

But then he smiled. "I'm teasing, darling," he said, then pulled her into his embrace again. "As I said, I've missed you exceedingly." He kissed her, passion escalating rapidly; his hands grasped her backside again, pressing her against him, proving the extent of his passion. "And I'm desperate for a shag."

She might have laughed, but he covered her mouth again, taking her breath away, before scooping her up into his arms and carrying her off to bed. He set her down, then quickly pulled her off tee-shirt and trackie bottoms before shedding his own clothes. As much as she loved him in that dark blue suit, she loved him even more when he was out of it.

He had barely gotten his last bit of clothing off when he was on the bed, beside her, entwining his limbs with hers, kissing her with that same fierceness as before. _I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder_ , she thought distractedly, _and the loins hornier_. He was a little more to-the-point than usual; he still carefully assured her needs were met, teasing her breasts and stroking fervently between her thighs, but otherwise wasted little time making the connection he had declared he'd needed.

With heavy, panting breaths, he continued to thrust, teasing the spot where their bodies met; her own head spun with ecstasy as she moved in time with him. Suddenly, he froze, holding her closely, as he tensed and then came with a shudder. 

For her, though, he carried on with pleasuring her, stroking and thrusting, and within very short order she came, too. His insistent kiss stifled the sound of her cry as he continued to move, until she broke away with a gasp and a sigh. He rolled slightly to her side, pulling her with him, then collapsed onto the pillows and sheets.

"Oh, darling," he said in a rasp, planting kisses along her hairline. He chuckled quietly. "Yes, I needed that." He cleared his throat, then added, "Then again, I always need you."

Giddily, she giggled, holding him tightly to her. She then sighed in utter satisfaction. "I guess I needed that too, more than I thought," she said. 

"I'll sleep very well tonight," he said; already he seemed drowsy.

"Poor dear," she said. "Have you had dinner? Are you hungry?"

"I probably am," he said, combing her hair back with his fingers, "but food's the last thing on my mind at the moment." With that he dove down to place his lips on her throat, kissing, grazing his teeth on her skin, touching his tongue to her skin.

 _No_ , she thought, _I don't guess it is_ , as her eyes fluttered shut, as his hands slowly moved over her shoulder to caress it, then down to her breast, as if making up for the haste of the first romp. She heard, felt, him chuckle against her skin.

He explained, caressing a breast in his palm, "Not that I don't appreciate them as they are, but I had gotten quite used to the larger edition."

This made her chuckle too, at least until she gasped at the feel of his mouth upon that breast, the tongue tracing circles, the teeth gently nipping, only to repeat this action on the other; she writhed under these ministrations, sure she would come again from the feel of this alone.

When he dipped his fingers between her legs again, when they brushed against the spot already charged beyond all measure, she moaned; he did it again, pressing harder, and—

The sound she made was not anything of the English language, but she was sure he knew, he could feel, what she was conveying, as she came to an extended climax under his insistent touch. He shifted to move over her again, not relenting with his hand until he was in a position to continue with ardent and powerful thrusts.

And then he too came again, groaning close to her ear, continuing those thrusts until it was clear he was utterly spent. Delivering tender kisses, he pulled her to the side, enveloping her with his arms.

Bliss. Utter, utter bliss. She sighed, her arms around him, raking her nails along the valley of his spine. She raised her head to look into his chestnut brown eyes, only to find, to her great amusement, that he had fallen hard into the sleep he had so resisted earlier.

Tenderly she smiled at him, then extricated herself from his embrace, slipped on a dressing gown then went down to the kitchen to fix them a snack. In the end, given the exertion and the fact that he had likely not had a decent dinner, she made them a couple of roast beef and cheddar sandwiches with crisps on the side and a glass of wine for each of them. When she returned upstairs, he was still quite sound asleep, so she set down the tray, then sat on the side of the bed to rouse him.

"Mark," she said quietly, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up."

Without opening his eyes, he said in a total deadpan, "What, no thought vibes?"

She smirked. "I didn't have the time to properly employ them," she said. "I've got snacks."

At this he looked to her. "Oh," he said, then sat up. "That sounds marvellous. Thank you."

They ate in relative silence, sharing content, smiling looks as they did. She had poured a glass of white wine for herself, red for him, and had actually managed to finish the sandwich and crisps before the wine. As she polished off the rest of her glass of wine, she turned her gaze to him again to see him practically doing the same with his own.

"We must have been hungry," she said. "We practically inhaled this food."

"Mm, yes," he said. "More than one appetite satisfied this evening. A perfect homecoming." 

She smiled. It really had been quite wonderful.

"Terribly prosaic of me to say," he said, reaching out a hand to ask for her empty plate, "but let's wash up, clean teeth, and so on."

She gave the plate and the wine glass to him, which he returned to the plate.

"That way," he said, a sly smirk on his face, "we don't have to worry about dental hygiene if we fall asleep, next round."

At this she began to chuckle, pushing the bed sheets away and getting to her feet. To her surprise her legs were a bit unsteady, and this made her chuckle again.

More to himself than anything, he said, "I'll unpack my things tomorrow."

"Where _are_ your things?" she asked, slipping an arm about his waist. He returned the embrace.

"Downstairs. Well, my shaving kit's just outside the bedroom door." 

"Priorities," she said. "You'll scandalise the housekeeper, leaving your things downstairs."

"I can go and get them right now, if you like."

"No, no," she said. "I'm just teasing."

Besides the brushing out of hair (she more so than he) and the cleaning of teeth, they took a quick shower together, where she took great pleasure in running soapy hands over his body, and he seemed to delight in doing the same. When they emerged she raised a comb to her hair, but he plucked the comb from her fingers and began combing through it for her.

Then he set the comb down, pressed his very warm body against her own, and kissed her. His hands slipped about her waist, and he broke away to say, "I think it's time to retire back to the bedroom."

She drew her brows together; with wet hair it'd go mad by morning. 

He chuckled, seemingly reading her thoughts. "Come now," he said, reaching to stroke her face, comb fingers through her hair again. "Surely it's worth it." He chuckled. "Nothing a bit of water can't fix again."

He had a point, and he had been gone a while, after all. She smiled. He was impossible to resist. She took him in hand and tugged, as if a pup by a lead. "What are we waiting for?"

He seemed startled but not displeased, and said nothing as they walked back into the bedroom. She pushed the sheets back and sat down, scooting back to allow him space beside her. Quickly he pulled himself against her and over her, covered her mouth with his as he bent over her. She tilted her hips up to meet him and he wasted no time driving forward into her.

She arched up into his thrust and let out a low moan just as he did. He continued to thrust until he came too, shuddering and tensing as he did. Once spent, he leaned over to kiss her at some length, then ran his hand up and down her body as they laid side by side.

"I sort of feel," she said, her voice raspy, "that I need another shower."

"Disagree," he said. "You're the picture of glowing happiness. It's perfect."

She tried to laugh, but was too fatigued. "Mmm," she said noncommittally. "I'll have to take your word for it."

After a few moments of silence, he asked, "This may be closing the barn door after the horse has bolted, but: do I remember correctly that you told me you were back on the Pill?"

"Yes," she said, closing her eyes, snuggling up to rest on his chest. "Billy's not breastfeeding anymore."

"Ah," he said.

She could tell by his tone that he was not excessively relieved, as if the question hadn't truly concerned him. It didn't concern her much, either. Lightning wasn't likely to strike twice. 

However, from the feel of his hand on her hip, circling around to her arse, she sensed that perhaps a different sort of lightning was about to strike again.

He pulled her against him, kissing her ravenously with a passion that belied the previous romps. "God, I've missed you," he said low in his throat, though it hardly needed saying. She brought her leg up over his thigh, hooked her ankle around his knee, returning the kiss, her stamina magically restored.

"Missed you— _ah_ —too," she said, just as his fingers slid over her, stroking, his touch driving her mad with desire again.

He pushed himself up, turning her onto her back again; he pushed her legs further apart as he knelt between them. He pushed her knee aside, grasped her hips and lifted them; with her knees over his shoulders he thrust forward again and again. The angle was most conducive to a rapid climax; surprisingly quickly she moaned and cried out as wave after wave of orgasm overcame her. 

He seemed especially vigorous as he thrust again and again, supporting himself on his elbows, his fingers in her hair as he continued to kiss her.

His speed picked up pace until he went taut and still, and then let out a sound that was somewhere between a cry and a groan, rather unlike anything she'd ever heard from him; his escalated passion triggered her own climax, her nails pressing into his back as she did.

Then two things happened:

Rather than take her tenderly into his arms afterwards as he always did, he fell to the side onto the mattress, groaning again and holding his hand to the small of his back. As she disentangled herself from him, she realised in that instant that it was more a groan of pain than pleasure. Apparently Mark had actually hurt himself.

As she had this realisation, another cry sounded out, this time from across the hall; Billy was wailing at the top of his lungs. Who to go to first?

Mark's face was screwed up in agony, but through gritted teeth and squinted eyes, he started waving at her to go to the baby. She threw on a dressing gown, tying it sloppily as she went to Billy, quickly determining (by smell before anything else) that he was in need of a change. She got him cleaned up and changed, gave him his dummy, then got him settled back down to go to sleep.

When Bridget returned to Mark, he was still on his side in a semi-foetal position, though at least he didn't have the tortured expression on his face anymore. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"As long as I don't move," he said quietly, "I'll be great."

"Can I do anything to help?" she asked, lowering herself gingerly on the bed beside him. "Maybe rub it?"

He chuckled, then winced again. "Sounds a bit like how we got in this mess in the first place." She chuckled too. He indicated with his fingers where it was that hurt, and she began to massage his lower back in that area. Slowly he began to unfold himself until he was laid out flat on his stomach. She then rose to get him a heating pad.

He sighed as the heat started to seep down into his muscles. "Billy all right?" he asked, slightly muffled by his pillow.

"He's fine," she said. "Nappy change, is all."

"Ah," he said. "Good."

She slipped out of the dressing gown, then slipped in beside him, resting on her side up against him, her arm across his back. She kissed his shoulder, pulled the sheets and duvet back over them.

"Shouldn't go to sleep with the heating pad on," he murmured, his eyes closed.

"Shush," she said, closing her own eyes, too. "Guess our shagathon days are over. We're down to weekly, I suppose. Maybe even monthly."

"Darling," he said, "enough with that sort of nonsense talk. You're going to give me nightmares."

### Early June, 2007

"Are you nervous?" he asked. He reached over to take her hand as he drove towards their appointment.

"Why should I be nervous?" she said. "We're just going to see a school for Billy. I'm not nervous."

"Oh."

She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. "Why 'Oh'?"

"Well," he said. "You just look a little green, that's all. You're feeling okay?"

"Gee, thanks," she said. "I'm fine."

"You know what I mean," he said. "I'm only a little worried for your health, that's all."

She sighed. "I do know," she said. "Just want to make a good impression, that's all. I—" She stopped short, feeling a sudden, volcanic roiling in her stomach that portended terrible things. "Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull. Over," she said again in a dangerous tone.

Fortunately he could get to the left to pull beside the kerb, at which she opened the door just in the nick of time.

"Why don't we postpone our visit and go home," he said rather than asked, as he handed her a pocket square to wipe her mouth. "You're clearly ill."

A foreboding came over her. She had only vomited so suddenly and so violently at one other point before in her life. "Oh God," she said, putting her hand over her mouth. 

"Are you going to be sick again?" he asked with concern.

She shook her head as she closed the car door. 

"Bridget," he said sharply, "what is it you're not telling me?"

She turned, met his eyes, then said, "I have a suspicion, based on previous experience."

"Previous experience of what?"

She stared at him, willing him to understand. "You really can't think of the last time I was as sick as a dog like this?"

His expression went from blank to confused. "But… the Pill."

"Is not infallible," she said. "I'd have to have a test, and I could be wrong, but… I know how I felt last time, and how I feel now."

He looked stunned, but she noticed that he also looked increasingly pleased, even smug. "I'll be happy to take you home," he said, "and then go pick up one of those tests until you can get to the doctor's."

Offering to buy her a pregnancy test was a sure sign he was possibly even proud at the thought of his little soldiers beating the odds and making it through. She smiled. "Okay."

Mark pulled back out into traffic, then headed towards home. "Meanwhile," he said, "will you call the school to let them know we can't make it—I guess we can reschedule for another day, hm?"

"Sure," she said, pulling out her mobile. "Reschedule for when?"

"Whenever you think you'll be up for it," he said. 

She made that call, rescheduling for the same time next week. He saw her into the house, then kissed her and stepped out again, promising to be right back. He had not been gone for three minutes when she found herself dashing to the loo, making it just in time.

She would do the test when he brought it back, but she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

… … …

He was, as promised, gone and back in a flash. He was so eager it was endearing. "Can you do it now?" he asked, handing her the chemist's carrier bag.

She opened it and smiled; in the bag was not one but an array of different brands of tests. "I guess that I can try the most sensitive of these now," she said, sorting through them and plucking one.

"I hope it's a girl," he blurted. "I'd love a daughter to spoil."

She smiled at him tenderly. "Rather putting the cart before the horse," she said; there was her own private instincts on the matter, and there was allowing him to get his hopes up only to be crushingly disappointed if it came back negative. 

"Well," he said. "No time like the present, I suppose."

"But I don't have to go," she said.

"Give it a try?"

So she went into the loo, but try as she might, she couldn't go. After a few minutes she gave up, and left the loo. "I'll…" she said. "I'll go have a tall glass of water."

So she did, and the nerves about the potential for an unexpected but not unwelcome second pregnancy meant that she was using the loo sooner rather than later. Mark waited for her to finish with the toilet before actually joining her. Together they waited, hand in hand, until the three minutes were over.

She turned it over then made a weird sound. It was positive.

She held it up to show him. His only response was to cover his mouth and stare at it… and then he turned his gaze upwards to look at her, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, Bridget."

She smiled too; seeing the positive response on the test suddenly left her feeling very emotional. She would have never guessed in a million years she would have been pregnant again at 45. "I—" she said, then stopped abruptly as he took her into his arms for a kiss and an embrace.

"Sorry, darling, what were you going to say?" he asked.

"Just that I should make an appointment to see the doctor for official confirmation," she said. "Before we start telling anyone. Or get our hopes up."

He nodded. "You're right of course, darling," he said. "I am jumping the gun a bit, aren't I? I just…" He stopped. "Well, I never thought I'd hear 'you're going to be a father' again, but you're right. Shouldn't get my hopes up too high."

She reached and took him into her arms. At that moment she wished she knew with absolute certainty. She hated the thought of any possibility of taking this away from him. She turned her head and pressed her lips tenderly to his, then brought her arms up around his neck and deepened the kiss. He in turn pulled her closer against him, his arms tightening around her waist, her hips grinding against his.

"Let's…" he said quietly, trailing off. He didn't need to finish.

"Yes," she said. "We unexpectedly have the afternoon free, after all."

She dropped down onto her feet from her tiptoes and took his hand, then led him into their bedroom. She released his hand as he stood next to the bed, then reached up to unbutton his shirt, then, once she reached the last of them, letting her fingernail drag a trail down his undershirt to the button on his trousers.

Once she undid them, the trousers fell down to the floor. Her fingers lingered on the waist of his boxers for just a moment before tugging them down too.

"We'll be here all day, at this rate," he said, then pulled off his shirt then the undershirt; he reached for her top, then tugged it up and over her head. She smiled, then started to giggle, undoing her own trousers, sliding them down.

He reached for her, though, taking her around the waist, pressing her to him, kissing her, running his hands down over her backside, taking her pants down with them.

"Darling," he murmured, squeezing gently, then again not so gently; as he did she could feel that his excitement was building. She raked her fingernails over his back, then over his bottom, causing him to shiver.

He then grabbed her bottom, lifted her up, then dropped her onto the bed, immediately falling into place beside her, diving to nuzzle into the hollow of her throat. His hand came to rest insistently on her inner thigh, then moved up between her legs. She closed her eyes and moaned as he grasped her thigh with the other hand, urging her to raise her knees, which she did.

"Mark," she managed. "Please… be careful."

He stopped. She opened her eyes to see his confused expression.

"Was just thinking of the last time we… did it this way."

He blinked rapidly, as if trying to understand. "You can't get up the spout if…" he began.

"I mean your back."

He looked slightly offended, though he did straighten his back as she drew her legs down; he then sat up properly, undoubtedly recalling the agony he'd suffered that night.

"I didn't mean that as a slight, Mark," she said with a smile, pushing herself up, too. "It's no fun for me if you're risking a pulled muscle."

His expression indicated something between agreement and disgruntlement, but it faded as soon as her hand reached for his knee then slid up his thigh.

"Also didn't mean that I wanted to stop," she added, rather redundantly. She moved closer to him to relieve his suffering with her fingers and hand, though by the sounds he made she wasn't sure if she was actually making things worse.

She climbed up and straddled his lap, kissing him again; he fell back to recline against the pillows. Between kisses he managed to say, "Be careful of your own back."

She smiled, then playfully nipped his lower lip. "I'm a whippersnapper compared to you," she murmured, then shifted and eased down onto him. 

His groan precluded further commentary. He grasped her hips, squeezed her backside, as she rose and fell in an ever-rapid rhythm. Her breath stuttered, her head began to swim with the sensation; she favoured this position for very selfish reasons.

She tightened her arms around his neck as she continued to move; he took advantage of the proximity and began placing open-mouthed kisses on her breast. She moaned as he tongued her skin, then, as he grazed the nipple with his teeth, as he pulled her down hard on him, she came.

Shortly after she did, as her body rocked with the aftershocks of the climax, he held on tightly to her hips and came too, thrusting up into her from his position beneath her.

He let out a long sigh as his arms and legs fell to his sides; he then ran his palms up her thighs to embrace her as she leaned forward to rest atop him.

"Well," she said, between breaths. "That was…"

"Mmm," he said. "Yes. Now, shhh."

… … … 

What woke Bridget the next morning was not the sun, hunger pains, or the need to use the toilet, but a violent churning in her stomach that signalled the need to get to the loo immediately. She managed to get to the bowl just in time.

She sensed without looking that Mark had followed her into the loo, knew he was waiting for her to stop to ask if there was anything he could do.

"I'm fine," she managed. "Second verse, same as the first."

"A little bit louder and a little bit worse," he added, not unsympathetically. She turned to look up at him from her rather undignified position on the floor, and he held out a hand to help her back to her feet. He made to pull her to him but she resisted, covering her mouth with a hand.

"Let me at least clean my teeth first."

He laughed lightly then released her hand. 

With that duty out of the way, she gladly accepted his embrace. "I had forgotten how unpleasant this part is," Mark said to her.

"Hardly the worst of it," she murmured.

"It'll be worth it, though," he said. 

She smiled. "Yes," she said. She drew back, running her fingers over the contours of his face. "Still convinced it's a girl?"

"I am," he said. "Just a hunch."

"Your hunches have always been damned impressive," she said.

"She'll be just like you," he continued, "but will _never_ show any interest in dating."

"Then she'll be _nothing_ like me," Bridget teased.

He turned, slipping his hand around her waist and leading her out of the loo. "You okay to eat something?" he asked.

"Yeah, feeling much improved," she said. "Yoghurt. Maybe some toast."

"Dry?"

She nodded. She was still trembling and she was thankful he was there to lean on.

As if on cue, though, as they got to the top of the staircase heading to the main floor, Billy began to cry. "I can't bear dealing with a dirty nappy right now," she said. "I'll go down, if you don't mind seeing to him."

"Of course, darling."

Not even in her drunkest endeavours had she relied so heavily on the bannister as she did now. Once to the kitchen, she managed to get the coffee going and was just plucking out the container of yoghurt from the refrigerator when Mark appeared, holding Billy in his arms. It was clear Billy had been crying, judging from his reddened eyes and cheeks, but he wasn't now, and when he saw his mother, he smiled broadly and reached his arms out towards her. "Mummy!"

"Hello, lovely boy," she said, reaching to take him from Mark's arms. "Bet you're hungry."

"If you want to hold him," Mark said, "I'll get his food ready and make your toast."

"Just throw some muesli into the yoghurt and call it good."

He did just as she asked, brought her the yoghurt and coffee, then came back to the table with coffee for himself and Billy's cereal.

"Thanks," she said. She heard him chuckle low under his breath. "What's so funny?"

"You sound like you're hung over."

"I sort of feel as if I am."

"Poor darling," he said, lifting another spoonful of cereal to Billy's mouth; Billy, who suddenly had become recalcitrant about accepting it. "Billy, I thought you were hungry," he said, as if expecting an answer.

"Maybe he wants chocolate," Bridget said, then had a sip of her coffee.

"No, that'd be you," he mused, shooting her a smiling look.

After finishing her breakfast she did feel a lot better; she chalked it up to raising her blood sugar to human-acceptable levels after being sick. Billy had also decided, once he saw his mummy eating, that he would eat too, and now that he was full, he was acting like his usual, unfussy self again.

"You'll be all right?" he asked. "I really must go in, after being out yesterday."

She nodded. "I'll be fine. Have some work to do, too, so hope Mr Baby here will go to sleep when needed."

"One more thing you should do," Mark said.

"Oh?"

"Yes," he said. "Ring up to get in to see the doctor."

"Baby?" said Billy.

"Yes, you are the baby," said Bridget.

"Maybe not for long," said Mark. "Mummy might have another baby in there." He reached to pat at her stomach. "What do you think about that?"

Billy looked at him as if he were mad. "Mummy eat?"

Billy's diction wasn't perfect but it was clear enough what he had said. Bridget tried desperately not to laugh. "No, sweetheart."

"It's more like… Mummy's baking a little baby in there."

From the way Billy's expression went from bad to worse, Bridget thought Mark was not helping matters. "Cake?" Billy managed.

"Billy," asked Bridget, "would you like it if you had someone else here to play with?" Billy nodded. "I mean, not right away, she—or he—would be very small at first…"

"Oh," Billy said. Then he smiled. "Okay."

She raised her gaze to Mark, who looked to her at the same moment. Simultaneously they said softly, "Okay," and then smiled.

… … … 

Within a couple of days, they had confirmation; within a few weeks more, Mark's hunch had been proven right, once again.

_The end._


End file.
